


Smoke & Spice

by Blue_My_Mind



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Advice, Drunken Confessions, Heart-to-Heart, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Old Scores, Smoking, with a stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_My_Mind/pseuds/Blue_My_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Brit ogling him during a smoke-break should probably make Zane wary. But Ty needs time with his team, Zane needs a smoke, and the guy is too drunk to shut up, so he can't do much but talk - and learn something in the progress, maybe.<br/>(Rated T to be safe, for the smoke, drink and mentioned sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke & Spice

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea why I wrote this piece. It’s absolutely useless and probably somewhat pointless, too. Anyway, enjoy ;)

 

Zane had thought he could handle it. He really had. But the longer he was here, the more he realized he’d been mistaken.

The bar was packed, and the heating was fired up additionally, making him feel like he was locked in a sauna .Also, at some point, Kelly had knocked against the table too hard when returning from the bathroom, knocking over a beer bottle. Its contents had spilled all over the table and partially over Digger and Owen, adding a near torturous source of smell to the crowd that already seemed to be sweating alcohol. And to make matters worse, the couple sitting behind them apparently loved cheap cigarettes and hated perfume.

He really should not have come along.

Zane had no idea if there was a reason for this get-together of if it was just time for their every-few-month meetings. He had liked it, though. Even though it had gotten better, he knew all the lies he’d told them still weighed on Ty’s conscience. Especially the situation with Nick.

Nick had openly put the sole blame for Elias Sanchez’s death on Ty and, essentially told him he didn’t trust him anymore and was sick of their friendship. Ty, in return, had disappointed Nick greatly when he’d turned against him immediately after learning he’d killed Burns. Additionally to all the problems of before, that was a whole load of emotional baggage to work through, and even though they had made great progress, Zane was thankful for every opportunity they got to work on it. Ty needed his best friend and his team, and he was sure Nick did, too.

Right now, though, he kind of wanted to just drag them home and lock them in their CIA-issued safe room to do so. And that was exactly the kind of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Not regarding those two men, not even in joke.

He needed a break.

Zane excused himself and stood up, wrapping his jacket around himself before he stepped outside. He had bought a pack of cigarettes earlier, and he pulled it out as the door swung shut behind him.

The bar was in a populous residential area, so, as not to annoy the neighbors, they had settled their smoking area in the backyard that they shared with two other bars: One a club mostly visited by people in their twenties, the other one a dance bar frequented by gays. It was also the reason they were here instead of going to their usual bar: Kelly and Nick probably planned to visit it later. Kelly had apparently never been to a gay bar or club and wanted to try it now.

Zane hoped he and Ty could avoid that tonight.

Sighing, Zane shoved that thought aside, looking around to find a place to smoke in quiet. The yard was fenced in by houses at three sides, the fourth was blocked by a low wall separating it from the parking lot behind it. There were few people here, most of them being kept inside by the cold and wet December weather, but still too many. There were three different gatherings of people where he stood, then there was a couple making out next to the club door, and a handful of men closer to the other bar’s door.

Only a single man stood at the wall, though, at a small distance from the other guys huddled at the gay bar’s door. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves that looked too thin for this weather. He didn’t even seem to be smoking. He just stood there, arms wrapped around himself and holding a bottle in his right.

After a split second of hesitation, Zane decided that had to be enough privacy.

He walked over to the wall, a few feet away from the other man, lit up and leaned back. He placed his elbows on top of the wall, closed his eyes and waited for the nicotine to take the edge off.

A few drags later, the craving started to wear off, but the calm and relief he’d hoped for didn’t come. His instincts kept insisting he was being watched, his skin crawling and the hairs at the back of his neck raising. As he opened his eyes and surreptitiously looked to his sides, he found the man he’d noticed earlier looking blatantly at him.

At any other time, he might have ignored it, but tonight, he was too cranky and the staring was annoying him too much to let it pass. He turned to fully face the guy and fixed him challengingly. “Do I have something on my face?”

The stranger flinched, obviously caught by surprise, blinking at Zane as if he didn’t fully understand. “No?” Then, he shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. You just reminded me of my . . . of somebody I once knew.”

His voice was soft, apologetic and infused with a melodic, British accent that caused mixed feelings in Zane. On the one hand, it still aroused him somewhat, on the other hand, another Brit ogling him on a smoke break made him wary.

Smiling at himself, Zane shrugged. How big were the chances Ty had another troublesome Englishman from his past more-or-less coming for him? Well, with Ty, all bets were off, but still.

“Nevermind,” he offered, not really able to stay pissed. He relaxed against the wall again, and holding out his pack of cigarettes as a peace offering. “Want one?”

The stranger shook his head, carefully inching closer. “I don’t smoke. I have all the vices I need right here,” he said, indicating the half-full bottle of Jack Daniel’s he held. “Do you want a drink?”

Even out here. The offerings just kept coming. Zane felt more resigned than frustrated about it, though. “I don’t drink.”

The stranger shrugged and turned away, looking down at his black monkstraps. They spent a long minute in silence, Zane smoking and the stranger taking occasional sips from his bottle. Finally, Zane couldn’t quell his curiosity any longer.

“I just have to ask,” he started, placing his elbow onto the wall so he was half-turned towards the other man. “If you don’t smoke, then what are you doing out here by yourself?”

The stranger shrugged again, without looking up from his shoes. “Drinking. Keeping to myself.” It was hard to tell in the dark, but he seemed to pull a face. “I’m simply not in a party mood.”

Zane blinked. “A club isn’t the best place to be, then.”

This time, the stranger gave a surprised laugh. “It’s not, I guess,” he agreed, turning and coming a little closer, stepping into the lights from the bar’s windows and for the first time since Zane had come out here, he could really see the man.

He was well-built, slender, but obviously fit. Not on Ty’s or his level, but trim enough. His handsome face matched his voice, looking gentle with fine, soft features that made it easy to overlook the fact that he was definitely taller than 6 feet. His dark hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands though it all evening. He also seemed tired somehow, having the worn-out aura of a man who’d been ridden hard and put away wet very recently.

It made Zane even more wary. In his experience, this combination meant the person had something to hide. Also, upon looking closer, he looked vaguely familiar, what Zane didn’t like at all.

“It was a friend’s idea,” the stranger continued, either really not noticing Zane’s sudden tension or just pretending not to. “To get me back in the saddle, he said.”

He broke off, shaking his head disgustedly and taking another deep swallow from his bottle. When he looked at Zane again, the light fell right on his face, an in the spilt second, Zane saw it in his eyes.

Zane was quite familiar with that specific, glassy look, having seen it far too many times in the mirror. He knew that you could pretend being drunk, and you could pretend being sober. But he didn’t care how good you could act, nobody could just will their eyes to take on that glazed and unfocused sheen.

He might not be slurring notably, but there was no doubt this man was actually drunk.

Zane relaxed a little. A drunk man was no danger. A second later, he felt a little stupid. If anybody should know how dangerous a drunk could get, and how well he still could pull information, it was him.

He also felt a little guilty. Letting this stranger talk about personal stuff when he was probably too drunk to fully control what he was saying seemed like taking advantage. On the other hand, maybe it was better than the kind of advantage some guy in the club might be taking.

“In all honesty,” the stranger went on, “Jumping the first guy who says ‘here me’ probably isn’t the best idea, even if there was anybody in there whom I’d consider.”

Zane took a long drag of his cigarette to stall. “Then maybe you should just call it a night,” he said finally. It would be better for both of them if the guy just took a taxi home now.

“Maybe I should.” The stranger laughed quietly, looking at Zane thoughtfully, then his posture changed, with the rashness Zane knew drunk people were prone to, yet still subtle. He leaned closer, his body language becoming slightly more inviting and his smile gaining a playfully seductive note.

“If I told you, you already have a better chance at having me than any guy in there, would you be very creeped out?”

Zane just had to laugh. That come-on, combined with his looks, was just the right mix of innocent and blatant, spoken playful enough to be waved off as a joke. The guy was good. And sexy. No contest to Ty, in Zane’s eyes, but still damned pretty. A few years ago, he probably would have responded in kind until he could have taken this beauty, pinned him to a bed and fucked him into the mattress until that flirty wit had dissolved into wordless moans and screams. And then he would have done it a second time.

Now, he just shook his head, chuckling. The fantasy was good, but knowing he’d have Ty in his bed tonight was much better. ”No. But I would tell you that I’m married.”

The stranger slowly nodded. “Married, yes?” he drawled.

Zane frowned slightly at the almost derisive tone, but he wasn’t offended enough to get cranky again. Not with the thought what he might have done to a stranger and what he would do to his husband tonight still on his mind. “You’re not a fan of marriage, huh?”

“Oh no, I am,” the stranger claimed. “Or I was.” He tapped the charm hanging on his chest a few times. Zane hadn’t paid any attention to the necklace, writing it off as some fashionable accessory. Now that he looked at it, he realized that it wasn’t a simple charm on the leather cord. It was a silver wedding band.

“I’m, well, divorced…almost five months now,” he continued, sounding surprised. He was staring ahead like he had forgotten there was somebody listening to him.

Zane winced, uncertain how to respond. Damn. He hadn’t exactly been counting on getting wrapped up in somebody else’s relationship troubles. “Sorry to hear that,” he finally offered, hoping he sounded noncommittal.

The stranger blinked and shook his head, apparently coming back from whatever thoughts he’d been having. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking another swing form his bottle.

They were silent for a few minutes, Zane finishing off his cigarette and the other man slowly but steadily draining his bottle. Zane was contemplating going back inside when the stranger suddenly turned back on him so quickly it made him flinch. “How long have you been married?”

“About nine months,” Zane said. Frankly, the question had caught him off-guard, but he saw no reason not to answer honestly. Looking down at the ink on his finger, the second and last wedding band he’d ever wear, he felt a smile pulling at his mouth. “We’ve been together for about five years before we got married, though.”

He actually rued the breaks necessary during their first year, but he didn’t think it would be appropriate to bother a stranger with those details.

“She’s a very lucky woman.”

Zane looked at the other man in confusion. He was smiling, but it was so sad and wistful that it tore at Zane’s heartstrings.

“The way you smile,” he tried to clarify in a low, gentle voice. “If just thinking about her makes you smile like this after six years, it’s real. And that makes her a very lucky woman.”

“Oh,” Zane said stupidly, finally understanding. He’d thought about Ty so naturally that he hadn’t even considered a stranger would assume he had a wife instead of a husband. ”Thanks, I guess. It’s a guy, though,” he added for good measure.

Now, it was the stranger’s turn to look confused. “Well, you’re in the wrong bar, then,” he pointed out wryly.

Zane laughed loudly at that. It wasn’t all because of that joke, but also because the reminder that it was real, and he was extremely lucky had left him feeling giddy. It was probably weird, but right now, he wanted to hug that stranger for making him remember, go back inside and drag Ty home to remind him of that fact, too. It was a shame he couldn’t.

To quell the urge, Zane popped another cigarette between his lips and lit it, telling himself to make this one last until he had himself fully under control again.

“Are you honest with him?”

Zane slowly rose his brows. It was a weird question coming from a man whose name he didn’t know. He wasn’t even certain if it was conversation, the setup for advice or a come-on.

“Yeah,” he said anyway.

“Good. Always be. Destroyed trust can beat love, you know.” Zane wasn’t sure if that was an advice or just a rant, but his voice was so full of hurt and bitterness that it was hard to be annoyed. “If I’d been honest, maybe my marriage hadn’t ended in an annulment and I wouldn’t be standing here getting drunk and bothering a stranger with my problems.”

He shook his head and put the bottle to his lips once more. It was now significantly less full than it had been when he’d first offered it to Zane, about a quarter of the whiskey remaining.

Zane watched him swallow and bit his lip, contemplating. He didn’t have any business meddling with somebody else’s life like this. Also, this talk had already become far too personal far too quickly for his tastes. It wasn’t like him to offer advises to random people. So, usually he would have written off this stranger and his messed-up marriage as Not His Problem, excused himself, and gotten back inside to the people he loved.

Yet, something about this struck close to home. It felt like he had some kind of responsibility here.

“Hey, listen,” he started reluctantly. “I know I don’t know you, and I have no business criticizing you, but if you want to hear some friendly advice…this is not the right way to deal with your problems,” he offered, gesturing at the bottle.

“’This’?” The stranger followed his gesture, then he huffed quietly and shook his head. “The bottle was about half-empty when I took it, if that comforts you. Not that it would be any of your business,” he added, sounding a little colder than before.

“I know it isn’t,” Zane assured him gently. The alarm bells in his head were ringing, though. The drink was a sensitive topic for him, even more so after he’d fully realized how dangerous it could be for him and his partner. If he could stop somebody from spiraling the same way he had, he’d try. “But I know how it is to lose somebody you love. So take it from somebody who knows it: You won’t find the solution for that pain on the bottom of any bottle of cheap whiskey.”

The stranger straightened and looked at him combatively for a moment, but then he deflated suddenly, sinking back against the wall, his shoulders drooping. “I know,” he muttered in defeat. Maybe Zane was imagining it, but he seemed to be slurring a little now. “Doesn’t solve any of my other problems, either. But sometimes…”

He fell silent, staring at the bottle like he could see something captivating happening inside. “It’s nice of you to care,” he finally offered, once again catching Zane by surprise. “But, if it helps you sleep easier tonight, I am not suicidal yet, so I have to be far too careful to be drunk often, anyway.”

Zane frowned, flicking the cigarette’s gleaming stump away as he fully focused on the other man, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. As unspecific as that comment might have sounded, he could just smell another crimes-and-guns story behind it. He had gained that much experience, at least.

“And I just realized that I should shut up now,” he added, not letting Zane voice his sudden interest. “I’m sorry. When I drink, I get . . . talkative. There, see? That is another reason why I won’t drink often.” He smirked, but it looked forced.

Zane didn’t smile with him, and the stranger’s face became serious, too. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t plan to hassle anybody with my troubles, and you probably didn’t want to hear it. Thank you for letting me vent, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zane said. Part of him hoped the man would keep talking. The investigator part, mainly. He’d known that guy had something to hide from the beginning, now he wanted to know what it was.

The stranger didn’t play along, though. He suddenly pushed off the wall, swaying a little before finding his feet. “You were right. I’ll take a taxi now.” He held out the bottle, much to Zane’s dismay. “Are you sure you don’t want the rest?”

Zane turned his head away to avoid the whiskey’s smell. “No. Don’t drink it yourself, though. Cheap whiskey still isn’t the answer.”

“Cheap whiskey,” the stranger parroted thoughtfully. It didn’t make much sense, but considering the amount he’d been drinking, Zane was surprised he could hold a relatively coherent conversation anyway.

The weak laughter was a bit much, though. It had Zane actually wondering about the guy’s mental state for the first time.

“It’s a bad way to forget _or_ remember him, you know? It’s nothing you’d ever associate with him. He’s very picky.” He smiled wistfully, slowly placing the bottle on top of the wall. “Honestly, if Corbin had ever caught me with cheap whiskey, he would have made me go outside and pour it into the next gully.

Zane perked up at the name, suddenly even more interested. A Brit with an ex-husband named Corbin. An ex-husband who had a predilection for expensive alcoholics.

It could be a coincidence, but then, it would be a fucking huge one. And Zane didn’t belief in fucking huge coincidences.

“And I’m chattering again,” the man muttered self-depreciatingly, his eyes still fixed on the bottle, though his hand was slowly pulling away. Zane watched him like a hawk, trying to get a better look.

More accurately, he tried imagining him with a deeper tan, a little more built, a little younger and with bleached hair, but he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen Del Porter for very long, and in his mind, the name would forever be connected with a prettied-up Ty. But it _could_ be.

“Again, thanks for letting me vent,” Maybe Del said, smiling at Zane weakly. When he realized Zane was intently staring at him, his posture suddenly changed. He tensed and took a step back, bringing distance between them. He was drunk-relaxed again just as quickly, so fast that Zane would have wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing, had the new distance not remained.

“I’ll just go now before I start again,” he went on, his voice still soft and friendly. “You have a nice night. Sorry for stealing your time.”

“Never mind,” Zane muttered again, still staring at the Brit, who didn’t turn his back on him in return, slowly backing away instead, as if Zane was some wild animal he might provoke by turning and leaving.

He wasn’t walking exactly steadily, though. Zane straightened, frowning at him. Now that the alcohol was actually hitting him, maybe he’d get some answers, or, at least satisfy his own curiosity. Ty would understand, it was about a mercenary from their past, after all. “Listen, you look . . . smashed. Are you sure you’re save to get home alone?”

“Sure,” Maybe-Del hastily assured. “Friend of mine’s still inside, and I’ll, I’ll ask him or the bartender to call me a taxi. Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for a response, spinning around and walking away as hastily as he could, his steps a little wavering, but quick, head lowered as if trying to hide his face.

Zane looked at him until he’d vanished behind the club’s door, then he let his gaze wander over the crowd. Nobody was looking into his direction, and nobody seemed nervous. Zane let his gaze drop and contemplated a third smoke, discarding the thought just as quickly. Out here, he was a too easy target.

Just as soon as he’d thought that, Zane shook his head at himself. He didn’t know if Del Porter was after him, since he had no actual reason to . . .but meeting him here was another fucking huge coincidence. If it _had_ been him.

If this was Del Porter, Zane mused, the past years certainly hadn’t been kind to him. The man he’d seen back then had been defensive and wary, but obviously well-kept and still cheeky enough to make snide remarks. He hadn’t had this bitter, downtrodden aura, or this tired look etched into his features.

What reminded him that he’d never actually found out what had happened to the Porters after they’d been transferred to New York. Maybe he should rectify that.

And maybe he should tell Ty about it. Thinking about it, he _definitely_ should tell Ty about it. He was not saying anything, but Zane knew he missed both the thrill and the brainwork his job had offered him. Solving this might bring back some of that for him.

Smiling, Zane pushed himself off the wall, walking back to the bar with a little bounce in his step.

In the end, they would certainly find out that Del had never even heard their names, and that he’d just been there to try dating to get over his husband and turned to getting drunk when he realized it wasn’t working, a chain of events Zane was uncomfortably familiar with. But there would be something in it for Ty.

Even if it was just a lesson what would happen if you just pretended all was fine when it wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, it’s a sad ending for the Porters. But since the last canon information on them was that “Corbin didn’t want to see Del” on that Interrogation Room on tumblr (no, I didn’t have anything better to do, will you kindly shut up, inner voice) I have little hope for them. Maybe someday I’ll come back and give them one anyway, if Miss Roux doesn’t beat me to it.  
> As for the rest, I do feel like Sidewinder needs some more work on their dynamic, even after P&P just as Ty needs some work to keep himself from going stir-crazy, but Del somehow took over, so I couldn't go into detail. Maybe another time, too.


End file.
